


Get 'Em Young, They're Yours Forever

by epsilonfive



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Breaking Bad Kink Meme, Hand Jobs, Kink Meme, M/M, Prompt Fill, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:09:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsilonfive/pseuds/epsilonfive
Summary: Walt doesn't like how Jesse's clothes hang off him like they're five times too big. He does like how one of his shirts reach just shy of the middle of Jesse's thighs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was going through the Breaking Bad kink meme and saw, sadly, quite a few unfilled prompts that I wanted filled so I went ahead and did one on my own (also I was indeed of a prompt in general haha). I would post it there but it's like 3 years old now so I'll just fill it out here. I'm bad at coming up with titles so I just used something Jesse says in an episode to Walt. 
> 
> Here's the meme and post in question: http://brbakinkmeme.livejournal.com/521.html?thread=41225#t41225
> 
> Jesse/Walt clothes kink - Something involving Jesse for whatever reason having to wear Walt's clothes and Walt really being into it.

Jesse wakes to the smell of fresh linen rather than the stink of other users, his nose pressed into something softer than he'd been used to for a while.

He groans and slowly turns over, the rustle as the quilt slides over him gently more like someone scratching directly on the inside of his brain.

He looks up and around, taking in the scenery around him. One that is not familiar. At all.

A wave of panic rises up inside his stomach as horrible possibilities start clawing their way into his mind. Who’s place was this, how did he get here, what had happened last night--?

He gives himself the once over. Track marks on his arms, as to be expected, but no strangely placed bruises. He shifts and is relieved to feel no sudden pain as he does so, and he definitely doesn’t feel like he’s been up all night fucking some stranger, so that’s something. 

He blinks, surprised that he even cares, before scrubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

God, he's tired.

It was when he pulled his hands back that he realises he’s clean, skin missing that coat of grime he hadn’t bothered to wash off for a few days. He also appears to be wearing some kind of shirt he's pretty sure isn’t his. It's some kind of drab green, the kind of colour and material that--

“Jesse,”

Jesse’s head snaps up as soon as he hears his name, and he instantly regrets it, pain shooting from his head down his spine. 

Once he’s recovered from his wincing, he blearily looks ahead to see Mr. White standing before him, an unreadable expression on his face.

“God,” is all Jesse manages to say as he slowly stretches, a hand coming to cradle his neck lest his head fall off from his shoulders.

“How are you feeling?”

“Peachy,” Jesse says bitterly, snapping his eyelids open and shut a few more times so that his eyesight can adjust fully. When he has the energy to speak again he looks Mr. White in the eyes, “Go on then,”

Walt blinks with a somewhat surprised expression, and makes a noise of confusion.

Jesse rolls his eyes.

“Come down on my ass, yo. I know you want to,” He’s in no mood for any kind of berating, especially not from Mr. White, but maybe if it happened now, Mr. White would burn out and Jesse could rest. Or be allowed to leave. 

Well, that last part was optimistic. Mr. White would know exactly where Jesse would head; right back to where he had been however long ago it was.

Mr. White surprisingly shakes his head.

“No. Not this time.”

Jesse raises an eyebrow, but he’s too tired to question it. He’s practically falling asleep sitting up, so he reluctantly pulls the covers back and stands up, feeling Mr. White’s shirt tumble down to... not damn low enough, that’s for sure. Is he even wearing underwear?

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and determines that no, he is not.

He looks up in time to see Mr. White swallow thickly and the latter’s eyes a little lower than Jesse would have liked, and he coughs a little to get Mr. White’s attention.

The eyes studying what could have been anything from Jesse’s stomach to his knees snap up to meet Jesse’s.

“Where’s my threads, Mr. White?” Mr. White opens his mouth but Jesse interjects before he can speak. “My clothes, yo.” 

“They’re in the dryer--” Mr. White begins and Jesse is already padding forward to go and collect them when a hand on his shoulder stops him. “Don’t... don’t you want breakfast first? You look like you haven’t eaten in days. More than usual, I mean.” Walt adds with a twitch of his lips, and Jesse rolls his eyes again.

“I’m not hungry. Why you want me to eat breakfast in nothing but one of your lame ass shirts anyway? Homo,” Jesse huffs out.

Mr. White says nothing, just increases the pressure of his grip on Jesse’s shoulder with a look in his eyes that make Jesse feel like it’s fruitless to even argue. 

“Alright, alright already, just let go of me,” Jesse says as he swats Walt’s hand away, walking past him and hoping the kitchen is a straight shot from here, since it’d be too awkward to turn right back around and ask where to go.

Thankfully after a short travel down the hall, something resembling a fridge comes into sight. 

He stops then to look around and take in Mr. White’s place, and it’s actually really nice. Not stuffy and too neat and beige like he’d expect, but sleek and well designed.

“Sweet pad, Mr. White,” He says honestly as he hears footsteps approaching. “Might have to get better security in case I come back and jack it and change the locks.”

Mr. White lets out a short sigh. 

“Yeah,” is all he says as he opens the fridge and reaches into it for eggs, milk and butter. “You can sit down, you know.”

Jesse looks up to see Mr. White gesture with his head at one of the red chairs so neatly set up it almost felt like a crime to mess it up with wrinkles. 

He was about to protest when, as if warning him against it, his whole body begins to feel like lead. His head's pounding and he's pretty sure he's having trouble feeling his feet.

Wordlessly he shuffles to the seat and collapses into it, despite the fact he’d felt almost bad about considering touching it earlier. He lets out a sound of contentment as he sinks into the cushions before he realises his actions are pulling the shirt up too far, and he lunges forwards to pull it down and cover himself, almost shooting straight out of the chair.

He looks up to see Mr. White busying himself with the preparation of food, and comes to the conclusion that Mr. White hadn’t seen anything, breathing a sigh of relief before speaking up again.

“Yo...”

“Hm?” Mr. White says over the sizzle of the frying pan.

“...Why?”

“Why what?”

Jesse almost says ‘you know what’ before deciding against it. Mr. White’s smart enough to know what Jesse is talking about really, he probably just felt awkward about the situation. Mr. White had Jesse close to his chest and petted and comforted him some few hours ago after all.

“I’m not about to give up on you, son,” Jesse snorts, but doesn’t say anything, and tries to swallow down the lump in his throat. “If I hadn’t gotten you out of there when I had--”

“How’d you find me?” Jesse cuts Mr. White off, wanting to change the subject before he starts screaming or crying or God forbid, literally falling into Mr. White’s arms and sobbing into his chest. 

“Saul. His guy,” Mr. White says simply, pulling plates out of the cabinet. “He just took me there and tried to change my mind. But I couldn’t just leave you when I knew what a shithole you were in--”

“Yeah,” Jesse cuts Mr. White off again, and he looks up to study Mr. White’s expression, expecting some kind of rebuttal for interrupting multiple times, but he doesn’t get one. He guesses Mr. White doesn’t want to start shit either, which Jesse is grateful for. “...Thanks.”

Mr. White gives him a rare smile, one which seems to be genuine, and Jesse has to look away for some reason, tugging his-- or rather Mr. White’s -- shirt down a little more.

He hears the toaster going off and watches Mr. White quickly take the slices out, wincing a little at the heat. He has no idea when Mr. White had even gotten bread out, but Jesse finds himself surprisingly hungry now that the drugs had worn off and he’s more aware of feeling something besides being high as a kite.

Mr. White is making his way over shortly after with two plates in hand, giving one to Jesse as well as a fork laid out on it before taking the seat next to Jesse and letting out a sigh of comfort.

“Quickly now, before it gets cold,” Mr. White says with his eyebrows raised as Jesse makes no move to pick up the fork. “Eat!” He encourages, gesturing a little with his arm.

Jesse gingerly picks up the fork and picks a little at the food before Mr. White gives him a look that makes him stab a piece of somewhat sturdy looking egg and put the forkful in his mouth.

Mr. White seems to chill out at this, then begins eating himself.

He keeps chancing glances over at Jesse, who was starting to pick up speed on his food as he realised not only could Mr. White cook perfect meth, but perfect grub too. Jesse’s eyes meet Mr. White’s, once, twice, and then Mr. White stops looking.

Once Jesse finishes, he starts to relax a little more now that the gnawing hunger is dissipating, and his head is starting to pound a little less. Feeling like he should repay Mr. White in some way, he waits until Mr. White finishes his own food, then stands up.

“Gimme that,” He says briskly, taking Mr. White’s plate and placing it upon his own before taking them to the sink.

“Jesse, you don’t have to--”  
  
“It’s fine,” Jesse says with a shake of his head, unaware that Mr. White is drinking in the sight before him.

He begins washing the plates and utensils and hears an awkward cough behind him, and he smirks at that for some reason. Mr. White likes to be in control of all things, not too fond of people doing things for him, and it’s quite nice to have Mr. White be on the receiving end of discomfort for a change.

Once Jesse finishes washing up, he places everything on the side to dry, then turns to Mr. White.

“Alright yo, there’s like five machines over there, which one’s the dryer?”

Mr. White lets his eyes slip closed in that way he does when Jesse’s unsure of what seems to be the simplest thing.

“It’s the one with the green buttons on it,” He says, and Jesse begins to make his way over to the machine before Mr. White stops him. “Wait.”

“What?!” Jesse snaps, whipping to face Mr. White and wincing again. 

“Come here,” Mr. White ushers Jesse over and Jesse tilts his head slightly, squinting suspiciously. “Please, son?”

Jesse swallows down the warm feeling that rises in his chest whenever Mr. White calls him that before throwing his hands up in exasperation and making his way over to stand in front of Mr. White.

“Alright, what’s up Mr. White? Seriously?” Jesse says as he holds the hem of Mr. White’s shirt down, more self conscious now he was under closer scrutiny.

Mr. White ignores the question.

“Closer.”

Jesse steps a little closer.

“Good. Now turn around,”

Jesse has no idea what to say, his eyes just widen and he looks at Mr. White incredulously.

“Please.” Mr. White adds again. He’s being strangely polite to Jesse which causes the suspicion to increase even more, but then Jesse figures if he just does whatever weird shit Mr. White wants him to do he’ll get his clothes back faster.

He turns.

Mr. White lets out an unidentifiable sound, but says nothing.

Jesse is just about to ask what’s going on when he feels fingers at the hem of the shirt.

“Dude, what the hell?!” He yelps, practically hopping away from Mr. White’s reach.

“Come back here,” Mr. White says with authority, his expression now one of warning in the way it went when he commanded obedience. “Come back here and turn around. Indulge me, and you can have your clothes back,”

“And I can go?”

“Maybe.”

That’s as good an answer as Jesse is going to get, so after some hesitation he moves forward and turns around again, forcing himself not to hold the shirt down at the back.

The fingers play with the hem again, and this time Jesse stays stock still, waiting on Mr. White’s next move.

The material is slowing beginning to be lifted and Jesse swallows down the second yelp that threatens to break through.

He feels a warm hand on his ass and he has to twist so that he can look at Mr. White.

“Fuckin’ homo,” He murmurs, ignoring the flattery that comes with the look he sees on Mr. White’s face. “Okay you got your grope you perv, now can I go?”

Mr. White looks up at him and shakes his head.

“Oh come on!”

Mr. White sits back in his chair.

“Come,” He says, gesturing to his lap. “Withdrawal will settle in soon, and I want you distracted for at least a little while,”

Jesse is about to tell him that actually, no, withdrawal won’t settle in, but as soon as he thinks it, his hands betray him and start to shake a little.

“There now, see? A little sooner than I expected, but there it is. Now come here.”

Jesse’s muscles feel like they’ve gone rigid now, the shaking increasing to the point he has to clamp his hands together. It hurts. It hurts a lot.

The sooner he obeys Mr. White, the sooner he can leave, so he inches forward slowly before cautiously sitting in Mr. White’s lap.

“Relax, son,” Mr. White says, with soothing rubs to Jesse’s back. “You don’t weigh a thing,”

“Not what I was thinking about,” Jesse mumbles as he eases into Mr. White’s lap fully, somewhat horizontally like a kid on Santa’s knee except a little more lax. “You wanna play daddy with me or something you sicko?” He tries to say with a little more aggression than what comes out. 

Mr. White snorts and rolls his eyes, but continues the rubs to Jesse’s back, and to be honest, Jesse’s quite enjoying it.

Mr. White’s free hand travels from its place on the arm of the chair to Jesse’s thigh, and Jesse’s breath hitches. It’s super sensitive for some reason, and he bites his lip to stop any more embarrassing noises come out.

The large hand slides slowly, slowly up the soft skin of Jesse’s thigh, and leaves fire in its wake. Jesse opens his mouth to say something, but he clamps it shut to trap the moan that threatens to escape his throat as Mr. White places his fingertips on Jesse’s cock and begins to slide them up and down slowly.

“D... don’t...”

“Don’t what? Ease your suffering for a while? Forget everything. Forget where you are. Just let me help, okay Jesse?”

Jesse doesn’t answer, just lets his thighs, which were previously clenched, fall open a little to grant Mr. White better access. It was just a handjob from one dude to another in their time of need after all, and he could live with this if he thinks of it like that.

After some few moments of gentle fondling, Jesse’s come to full hardness, his body seemingly eager to feel better as Mr. White said. One hand comes up to grip Mr. White at the shoulder and the other is shaking a little as it balances on Mr. White’s knee.

“Ooohf-- ffm-- fuck...” Jesse lets slip as Mr. White uses the precome beading at the head of Jesse’s cock to slick it up and allow his full hand to wrap about the shaft and pump it slowly.

“Good?” Mr. White asks simply, and Jesse nods quickly to stop Mr. White from pressing the matter. “Good. You’re doing well, son.”

Jesse hisses at the combination of the praise, that name, and the squeezes Mr. White’s giving as he strokes upwards.

He usually lasts longer than this, but Jesse figures it’s something to do with withdrawal or maybe he’s still coming down or maybe Mr. White’s just fucking good at handjobs he has absolutely no idea, but already he can feel his orgasm building, and his grip on Mr. White tightens.

“Muh-- Mr. White-- I’m c --cuh!-- coming-- _Mr. White_ ,” Jesse moans sweetly, words a little difficult to hear through his pants and little whines.

“It’s alright, Jesse,” Mr. White’s voice comes floating through the din, low and slightly hoarse. “Come.”  
  
As if the permission was the one thing that was needed to make Jesse come, he felt the coil in his stomach release as he gasped and painted his orgasm over whatever surface was closest, most likely Mr. White’s hand.

After a couple of moments of his body being rigid as he came, Jesse practically collapses back down into Mr. White’s lap, panting with his cheeks flushed and his eyelashes a little wet.

He had to admit, the pain has eased up some, and the shaking has reduced itself to post-orgasm consequence, but he dare not open his eyes.

“Come now,” Mr. White utters, standing up and practically picking Jesse up with one hand as he does so before he strides off towards the kitchen area. “You need your clothes and we need to go.”

“Go where?” Jesse asks wearily as he gingerly regains his balance, a yawn bursting through his throat and threatening to tear his head in two. 

Mr. White doesn’t answer. Jesse hears the sound of a tap and some brisk hand washing before he looks up in time to catch a pile of clothes, all seemingly his.

Normally he’d shoo Mr. White away or insist on some kind of privacy, but the dude had just been jacking him off merely moments ago, so he just goes ahead and shucks Mr. White’s green shirt and, feeling rude if he were to just leave it crumpled on the chair next to him, folds it carefully before placing it on the arm of the chair. 

Feeling a little chilly he hastily dresses, taking a glance at Mr. White to see him looking at the folded up shirt with some kind of appreciative expression.

“Ready to go?” Mr. White asks, door open as though he intends Jesse to walk through it. 

“Where are we going, man?” He asks again, almost too tired to actually care as he shuffles slowly towards the threshold.

“Rehab.”


End file.
